Oh, don't worry. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. “Here, dis is for you. ‘That’s right. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. At one moment, it seemed as if the flying bark was about to put to shore.
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